


Not So Riddikulus

by Jade_Dragoness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boggarts, Community: hc_bingo, Fear of Death, Gen, Mind Control, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has lied to Stiles about boggarts. He learns that when you begin to feel their fear, it's nearly impossible to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Riddikulus

Stiles runs.

His heart pounds away wildly... maddened like a desperate animal, frantic and mindless with terror. It powers his feet, it drives him ever deeper into the woods. The smell of candy is in his nose, in his mouth and on his clothes. The smell is black liquorice mixed with ashes. But Stiles barely pays it any attention. He can't focus on anything, not over the fear pouring through his veins. Or the tears leaking from his eyes. Fear which has him running deep into the woods and away from the horror of what he'd left behind. 

_I've failed them. They're dead. They're all dead. And it's my fault. MY fault._

The certainty of the thought, pounds away at him, gnaws at his heart. It powers his legs, adds wings to his feet and he runs faster until something catches his sneakers and Stiles stumbles, crashes into the autumn detritus of the forest floor. He tears his palms, rips holes through his jeans. Something snaps in his left wrist.

“Fuck!” he shouts, clutching at his wrist. The bright flare of pain, clears Stiles' head for a brief moment.

_Wait, no. This is –_

The stink of fennel, black liquorice, flows up into his nose. Stiles gags, tries to spit it out, but it is insidious. It's too late for him. His heart leaps, as adrenaline and fear sends his heart into overdrive. He's on his feet, uncaring of the broken wrist. He hears loud howls from behind him, but he ignores them. They're hallucinations. They're not real. The pack is dead. All his friends are dead.

Scott. Allison. Isaac. Derek. Lydia.

His _dad_.

All of Beacon Hills with everyone he's ever known. Everyone.

He sobs and adds speed to his run out of a mindless certainty that if he's just fast enough he'll be able to outrun the nightmare. Because... he can't be alone. 

_No. It's too much. I can't._

He comes to an abrupt stop at the sheer drop of a gorge. He pants for air as he stares over drop to small stream below. He's alone. Everyone he cares for is _dead._ Everyone he loves. Everyone he's known. His greatest fears all wrapped in one horrible, bloody package. 

His heart is still pounding away. The candy smell is cloying. Rotting. Urging him on. Giving him one way out of his nightmare.

He doesn't hesitate and leaps. 

Stiles closes his eyes as gravity grasps him and pulls him down. He's hit by what feels like semi-truck right around his middle. 

Stiles screams in surprise, his eyes widening as he and whatever has grabbed him crash into the other side of the gorge. They roll and scrap along the dirt and rocks, and Stiles screams again, but in agony as bones snap and his wrist flares with pain. The roll comes to an abrupt stop and there is a heavy, heated weighted crushing the breath out of him. Confused, Stile struggles against it. He moves enough to catch the flare of glowing eerie blue eyes. Of Derek. 

The pain has cleared his mind again.

“Oh god, oh god, did I just really do that?” Stiles pants in disbelief. He'd jumped. He'd really jumped. Because of the...

Stiles eyes widen even further and he tries to sit up. Derek growls at Stiles, looming over him. One hand like a ton weight is pressing down on Stiles' breastbone. The rest of the pack lands next to them with soft thumps.

“Stiles!” Scott yells, scrambling towards them with fear written across his face.

Stiles looked at them desperately. “It's fear toxin! Boggarts are real! And they _spit_ out fear toxin. You have to get me to Dea–”

Stiles chokes on black liquorice. He sees them around him, the lingering images of his dead, of his guilt. He screams. He sobs. He tries to make it back to the edge of the gorge.

He blacks out as a fist catches him on the back of the head.  
*-*-*-*

Stiles wakes up again with Deaton leaning over him. Too close. 

“Gah!”

“Oh, good. You're awake,” says Deaton as he backs up. Behind him, stand Scott, Allison, Isaac, Derek and Cora. Alive.

Relief floods into him, Stiles tries to sit up but a planet-sized headache slams into him, trying to crush his head into paste.

“Oh, my God,” he whimpers. He tries to clutch as his head only to knock himself in the temple with his plastered wrist. He cries out as the headache becomes a Headache of DOOM.

At once, several hands clutch at him and the Headache Of Doom, fades under werewolfy powers.

_Ha,_ he thinks giddy triumphantly, as he opens his eyes. _Not so tough are you, Headache of Doom. Bow before the pack power!_ He used to find the black veins kinda creepy when Scott or Isaac took away pain. But now, he's going to find it awesome. Creepy and awesome.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and successfully manages to sit up, admittedly with a little best friend assistance.

“You okay?” Scott asks hopefully, as he helped Stiles sit up. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. When Scott turns the assist into hug, Stiles just gratefully leans into it. Feeling too much like he needs a good cuddle. He still remembers how he felt since the – “Wait –the boggart!– That's what got me! Oh, man Harry Potter is so wrong in explaining how to get rid of those. We need to kill it before–”

“It's done,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles blinks, surprised. “What? Already? How long was I out?”

“Six hours, I had to keep you sedated until I could create the antidote,” Deaton explains. 

“And you took care of my wrist at the same time. Awesome,” Stiles says, not quiet certain whether to be pleased that he won't be making another visit to the hospital or weirded out that he'd been unconscious for medical care... from a veterinarian. Emissary. Whatever Deaton was this week.

He wonders if he'll be able to hide the cast away from his dad until he could get it removed.

Oh man, his dad. His dad was alive. 

Stiles longed to see him so badly that he didn't have words, just the need.

“I want to go home now,” Stiles sighs into Scott's neck.

“Yeah, let's go.”

End


End file.
